The Trouble At Santa's Workshop
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, AU. Oneshot. Dixons have a code, and sometimes that code gets the into trouble at the most unlikely of places. Rated for language and mild violence.


**AN: So this one has been sitting in my folder for the longest time. It was an anon request. I'll say ahead of time that it's meant solely to be a little funny/kooky oneshot. It's not meant to be taken seriously at all.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy for what it's worth. Let me know what you think!**

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The mall was packed to the point that it was actually overflowing. Around the outside of the structure, people seemed to be spilling into the parking lots because there was nowhere for them to go inside until the crowd shifted at least a little. There were only about eight good shopping days left until Christmas and it was clear that everyone had left all the shopping they needed to do until the very last minute. From the looks of it, Daryl couldn't imagine that there was even a single thing left in there to buy. As a result of the madness, it had taken Daryl half an hour to find a park and he'd been elbowing people constantly since he'd safely gotten his family inside the doors.

They'd done their shopping early. All their gifts were wrapped and they were ready for Christmas in every way possible. The turkey that Carol would bake had even been ordered so that all they had to do was pick it up from the store when they went to pick up the other last-minute food items.

The Dixons had no real shopping related emergency that should have dragged them out into the insane rush of last-minute holiday shoppers.

Except it was Bryce's first Christmas and Carol couldn't stand the idea of missing the opportunity to have the little boy's picture taken with Santa.

She'd missed a lot of those things with Sophia, thanks to the fact that Ed had never really thought anything that celebrated his daughter's life was worthwhile, and these were experiences that Carol didn't want to miss entirely. Bryce was what Carol called her "late in life" baby, and there was almost a hundred percent chance that he'd be the last she had. If she missed doing anything she wanted to do with Bryce—or experiencing any of the "baby's first" events—she probably wasn't going to ever get the opportunity to do them again.

And Daryl, for his part, wanted his son to have every experience he could—even if they were experiences he only remembered from looking at photographs. He wanted Sophia, too, to get the chance to do everything that interested her. He had missed out on nearly everything as a kid. When other people talked about what they considered to simply be quintessential life experiences for children, Daryl never could quite relate to them.

It didn't make him teary eyed—at least not anymore—but it did make him determined that he was going to make sure that his children couldn't say the same. He'd do whatever he had to do, even if that meant fighting his way through the Christmas crowd, he and his wife both on the verge of something akin to a panic attack thanks to the close quarters, loud sounds, and overabundance of people, just so his son could have his picture taken with Jolly Old St. Nicholas.

So they'd taken Sophia and their seven month old son, and they'd braved the crazy crowds to get in line to have the baby's picture done at "Santa's Workshop" with an old man who was almost convincing enough to make Daryl question whether or not Father Christmas might really exist. Daryl had suggested that Sophia join her brother in the photo, but at twelve years old, Sophia had declared that she was far too old for such a little kid's activity.

The line moved slowly. It moved so slowly that, for the longest time, Daryl wasn't sure that it was moving at all. Around them, children complained and whined about being tired and hungry. People filled to the brim with the so-called Christmas spirit grumbled and griped and shifted around their oversized shopping bags. One man, a few people ahead of Daryl and Carol, went so far as to heckle a person dressed as an elf because he thought, apparently, that would make things progress faster and go more in his favor.

All in all, it was a wonderful example of just the way things should go during the holidays.

Daryl, though, was surprised at himself and how well he was keeping his cool. Carol stood just behind him with Sophia in front of her, and Daryl held Bryce in his arms. Both of their children were being picture perfect. Of course, that might have been because they'd had the foresight—clearly unlike some of the parents in line—to feed them both ahead of time and to promise Sophia that good behavior would mean a good word in to Santa about the bike that she desperately wanted for Christmas.

As the line shuffled forward, so did Daryl and his crew. Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel—or rather the elf at the end of the line—approaching, Daryl turned Bryce around to Carol and held him out for her to fix his outfit. She tugged here and there, rearranging the little boy's clothes, and Bryce started to fuss for the first time about his predicament. Daryl bounced him in response to get the fit under control before it could escalate into a full-fledged meltdown.

When he turned back around, Bryce ready for his picture with Santa, Daryl was surprised to see that there was another man elbowing into the space just in front of him.

"Hey," Daryl said. "There ain't no cuttin'. Back of the line's back there. Curls around down at them candy cane arches."

The man made a face at Daryl that Daryl didn't quite appreciate.

"You weren't moving with the line," the man said. "You can't hold your place if you don't move with the line."

"The hell you talkin' about?" Daryl asked. He ignored the feeling of Carol's hand on his shoulder. He didn't have to look at her or listen to her to know that she was suggesting that he might want to calm down and avoid a scene.

"The line moved," the man said. "You didn't. Some of us actually want to get pictures done and get out of here."

"The line moved a fuckin' step and a half," Daryl said. "Weren't big enough for you an' ya damn kid to even get in there!"

"Daryl..." Carol said, raising her voice behind him. The man's wife was in front of him, apparently, with their goofy ass looking little kid. She was doing her part to try to soothe things over with her husband.

"Let's just go back to where we were," the woman said.

"I suggest you listen to your damn wife," Daryl said. "Go back where you were an' wait in line like a decent person."

"Daryl—let's not start anything at Santa's Workshop?" Carol offered, trying to soothe him with her tone.

The man in front of Daryl laughed.

"Maybe you should listen to your _mother_ ," the man offered.

There were very few times in Daryl's life when he'd gotten so mad that, for a split second, he'd actually seen the colors in front of his eyes change and he'd felt himself grow slightly lightheaded from the desire to react. Of those few times, none of them had ever happened in a line to see a man that was dressed as Santa Clause.

But there was a first time for everything.

"The hell did you just say?" Daryl growled at the man.

Bryce squirmed against Daryl, a reminder that he was there, and started to fuss. The reminder that his son was there—and consequently that his wife and daughter were just behind him—drew Daryl back from his frustrations for a moment.

This was about Bryce. It was about Bryce's first picture with Santa and Carol's chance to have the "baby's first" experience that she'd been denied with Ed. That's all this was about.

Daryl blocked out the man's repetition of the insult and he bit back his desire to sucker punch the asshole in the gut.

"You know what?" Daryl said to him. "Merry fuckin' Christmas to you an' your Elmer Fudd lookin' kid. Go ahead. You go first. Judgin' by your wife's sour ass expression? It's the only order you know how to come in at."

If the man wanted to punch Daryl half as much as Daryl wanted to punch him, he didn't act on it. He went red in the face—nearly as bright as a tomato—but he didn't react. He didn't have time to. Either because the line had progressed quicker than before, or simply because the elves wanted to get them out of there before mall security had to swing by, two of the elves ushered the asshole and his family on through.

Daryl turned around to Carol's disapproval and frowned at her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But—you didn't hear what he said."

"I heard him," Carol said. "And I don't care. I don't care about him anymore than I care about anyone else in this mall. He can say what he wants and he can—he can think what he wants. What I care about is Bryce."

Daryl bounced the little boy that was growing irritable. Whether his irritation was because he was feeding off Daryl's energy or because he was tired of being held there, Daryl wasn't sure and it didn't matter. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find the elf ushering them forward.

Daryl took Bryce up and passed him to the man that was playing Santa Clause. The old man offered him a warm smile—one of the first that he'd seen during this holiday season—and asked him what his son's name was.

"Bryce," Daryl said. "He's a good kid, but he likes it if you kinda—bounce him a little."

The old man thanked Daryl for the tip and Daryl moved back behind the line where the elf instructed him to stand with Carol. It might have all ended right then and there with a quick snapshot, but Bryce decided that he wasn't at all thrilled with Santa Clause. He launched into a fit that drew the attention of everyone around and not even Santa or an elf armed with toys could calm him down.

Carol rushed over and calmed the little boy quickly enough, but when she tried to leave again, he started to fuss once more. Finally, Santa offered to her that she might be in the picture and she blushed a little red as she gingerly took a seat on the man's other knee. Daryl pushed Sophia forward then.

"Come on," he said. "If she's gotta be in it? We'll make a whole family thing. Get up there. That's what Bryce wants? That's what the hell he gets."

The picture went smoothly enough once Sophia had piled onto Santa's lap and Daryl had stood behind them, and somewhat to the side, leaning into the photo. When they were done, Carol apologized to the old man for the whole fiasco and he assured her that they weren't the first family that had ever had to accompany a little one in their first picture with Santa. He'd wished them a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and then he'd sent them on their way to the small gingerbread house where a very oversized elf offered them the prints.

With Carol carrying a sleepy Bryce and Sophia carrying the prints, Daryl walked with a hand on each of their shoulders and guided them through the crowd. They could escape the madness of the mall and head home to hot cocoa and a Christmas movie.

At least, that was the plan. But plans didn't always work out.

They'd barely gotten clear of the crowd around Santa's Workshop when Daryl heard a voice that he wasn't likely to forget soon.

"Great picture," the man said, his laughter making Daryl's hair stand on end. "You and Santa. The little elves. Your wife was the perfect Mrs. Clause. Bet she was hoping he'd slip it to her right there like he does at the North Pole every night."

Hands free and not able to hold back his temper as much as he'd like, Daryl did something he knew he would probably regret for a long time—but he didn't regret it at the moment that he did it.

He barely got the words "don't talk about my fuckin' wife" out of his mouth before his fist made contact with the snickering idiot's jaw. The man never saw it coming. Mall security, unfortunately, did.

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"I'm not mad," Carol insisted with a sigh. "Not really. I just thought—my son would be at least walking before he spent his first night in jail."

"Mall jail," Daryl corrected. "And we ain't spendin' the night here. Merle's on his way to pick us up."

"You almost broke a man's jaw outside of Santa's Workshop," Carol said. "You're just lucky he's not actually pressing charges."

"He shouldn'ta jacked his jaws if he didn't want 'em broke," Daryl pointed out.

Carol sucked her teeth.

"Sophia—what has Mama always told you? Violence is not the answer. It still isn't," Carol said. "Daryl?"

Daryl sighed.

"Violence ain't the answer, Soph," Daryl said. "It just ain't. And—there's a lotta damn ways I could've handled that. Lotta ways I shoulda handled that." He looked at Carol to rate her approval level. She was calm, but she was clearly disappointed. His mea culpa, however, was helping a little. "I'm sorry, Soph. I wrecked your—I wrecked your whole Christmas movie night an' I acted out and I shouldn't have. It weren't the right thing to do."

Sophia, for her part, laughed loudly from where she was sitting on the bench.

"This is way better than watching Frosty the Snowman again," she said. "I don't know _anybody_ that can say they got locked up at Santa's Workshop."

"Sophia," Carol responded, "this isn't the kind of thing you're _proud_ of."

"But I am," Sophia argued back. "At least—a little bit." Carol gave her the same disapproving look that she'd been giving Daryl for most of the time they'd been waiting there. Sophia held her hands up and tried to explain herself. "I know! I know, Mama! We don't hit and that's—it's not how we solve our problems. But—he was kinda being a jerk. And—he was being mean about you. Daddy was just taking up for you."

"It doesn't matter what he said," Carol said. "We don't break people's jaws outside Santa's Workshop and we're not proud about our time in mall jail."

Sophia giggled.

"Right," she agreed. "But—I am a _little bit_ proud of Daddy for not letting him just say those things." Sophia cowered a little when Carol gave her a warning look. "Not all the way proud," she clarified. "Just—a little bit proud."

Carol glared at Daryl and he tried the best he could to wipe the smirk off his face because he knew she wouldn't approve of it. He shrugged his shoulders at her.

"What can I say?" He asked. "You wanted her to be a Dixon. She's a Dixon. We ain't always right, but we do stand up for our own." He got to his feet and offered Carol a hand. "Come on," he said. "I hear Merle. Gimme Bryce."

"Merle's going to love this," Carol said with a sigh, passing her son over to Daryl. "He's going to love it even more that Sophia not-all-the-way-approves."

Daryl snorted.

"Hell, he prob'ly won't never let it die," Daryl said. He caught Carol's face and turned it so that she would look at him. "Hey—I'm sorry," he said. "I really am. Swear to you, I won't never do it again."

"You won't do it again because we're not getting Christmas pictures again," Carol said. "Ever. We're banned."

Daryl laughed.

"But at least we got it, right? Baby's first photo with Santa," Daryl said. Carol sighed and nodded her head.

"At least there's that," she said. "One first off the list."

"Two," Daryl said, sure that she'd make him regret the joke, but determined to make it anyway. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Baby's first picture with Santa and—baby's first incarceration. I'd say—we're ahead of the curve."


End file.
